Uncle Arnold, ATC
by Upeasterner
Summary: Light from the full moon reflected wanly on the retreating waves. Mrs. Muir peered closely at the Captain's face. Funny, but he seemed cross after such a wonderful day with Uncle Albert and the kids.


"Madame? You seem rather distant this evening."

Mrs. Muir picked her way along the rocky shore.

"I guess I have special considerations that don't apply to you," she said wryly, shooting her arms out to avoid falling on sea-slickened rocks. "If you were human, I'd ask you for your arm."

Captain Gregg stopped abruptly.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked levelly.

"Is what about?" She echoed, reaching a level part of the beach and jumping, just in time to avoid the incoming tide. "Stop distracting me!"

Light from the full moon reflected wanly on the retreating waves. Mrs. Muir peered closely at the Captain's face. Funny, but he seemed cross after such a wonderful day with Uncle Albert and the kids.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything," she said, embarrassed by his silence. "It's just that I'm still getting used to the fact that you're a ghost and I'm, well, at least for now, a mortal. Sometimes I have to stop myself, to remember there are things you can do – like conjure up bunny rabbits – and things you can't do, or I can't do, like, well, you know – Captain Gregg, I didn't mean anything by my comment. Please forgive me."

She flushed. Her breath steamed the air; the Captain's did not.

"One hundred years ago, I would gladly have carried you across those rocks, and whilst you were still in my arms…" he whispered so softly the tide threatened to carry his voice out to sea.

"Maybe," Mrs. Muir said, turning away and continuing precariously down the beach. "Tonight, you'll just have to settle for rescuing my family from drowning."

"Madame!"

There were streaks of mascara on her cheeks and she sniffled suspiciously.

"Blast it woman, how many times must I tell you that rubbing black kohl vigorously on your eyelids is something women in my day would never countenance!"

Bluster was all he had to offer, and he blasted himself once again, silently, for his impotence in the face of her tears. She wiped her face with her hand, smearing her makeup beyond repair, and then jutted both of her hands into her pockets.

"Now you listen to me, Daniel Gregg. You were an absolute sweetheart today, bailing out poor Uncle Albert. You didn't have to do that. I know how you despise having outsiders aboard your ship. But you welcomed him, because he was important to me, and to the children. You could have gone along with Jonathan and Candy when they wanted to jettison him. But you didn't. Instead you humored me, allowed him to keep his dignity, and saved the birthday party for my daughter. You taught Jonathan and Candy it's not okay to throw people away just because they're embarrassing or old."

He held up his hand, as though to silence her, but Mrs. Muir ignored his gesture and even leant further towards him.

"I don't think you understand what your presence means to us," she continued, her voice wavering. "To me." She turned again, and walked further out, onto the wet sand left by the retreating tide.

"You've made us a family again, something we probably haven't been – ever. Do you think it matters, in the long run, if you can't carry me across the blasted rocks and kiss my lips, and –"

"Oh, me dear, what have I done, to you, to your family? I am a spirit, an illusion –"

"—A family man? The man I share a bedroom with? That's what this is all about, Captain Gregg, since you asked. This is what it's all about. It isn't about magic, ghosts, zany alternative realities or even being a poltergeist. It's about you, and me, and Jonathan and Candy, Martha and Scruffy. And you, and me."

Mrs. Muir sank wearily onto a boulder. Neither spoke for several minutes. Finally she stood. He extended his arm, and even though neither thought anything could come of it, she soon found she could lean reliably on his scratchy woolen peacoat as she carefully picked her way back towards Gull Cottage.

Before they reached the cliff stairs, his arm fell to her waist where it remained, sometimes companionably, sometimes more than that, for the next 45 years.


End file.
